


Beneath the Light of an Azure Moon

by arclights



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-01-06 11:17:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12210186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arclights/pseuds/arclights
Summary: The music of the Dragonsong carries across Eorzea, from the ancient towers of Dravania to the now-frozen wastelands of Coerthas.  One Elezen voice rises to join the chorus, singing counter to the dragons' melody.Estinien would never admit to writing his own song, yet his notes linger and intermingle with those of the great wyrm until they become indistinguishable from one another.  Bathed in the blood of his kin and his adversaries alike, he does what the Azure Dragoon must always do.He carries on.





	1. Chapter 1

One scream, quickly joined by a chorus of others, pierced the crisp air. Estinien’s breath caught in his throat yet he pushed himself to keep running. All hope that the dragons overhead had passed the village over shattered with the rising shouts. Smoke unfurled into the air, faint wisps that gathered into clouds with ashes for precipitation.

And still, he ran. A madman’s desperate dash, he made for Ferndale, uncaring for what dangers may have awaited him. All he needed to know was that his brother was safe.

“Halone preserve them,” he muttered, the prayer barely loosing from his throat as smoke filled his lungs. He coughed once, his wild sprint halted as he whirled around, looking in every direction for a sign of survivors. Overhead, the great wyrm flapped its wings, leaving great gusts of wind in its wake. Estinien shielded his eyes in an effort to keep the ash out of them. A head of white hair, pure as snow, peeked out from beneath the rubble of his home.

“No!” Estinien cried out, rushing to his brother’s side and dropping to his knees. The younger boy’s eyes were closed almost peacefully, so much so that only the red stains on his clothing and hair gave away his true state.

Estinien touched his shoulder nonetheless, shaking him weakly despite knowing that he had already passed into Halone’s halls. Tears formed in the older boy’s eyes, and when one splashed to land in the pool of blood at his knees he could not help but let the rest fall.

He had helped his father butcher karakuls in the past for their meat and skins. The creatures gave their lives so that the village may survive, and the process had been methodical and swift. Never had he seen a slaughter for the sake of bringing death. Deep inside his heart, his blood began to boil. The dragons did not need food nor shelter from the people of Ferndale; they had simply killed. Every tale he had ever heard about the monsters rose to the forefront of his mind and he clenched his fists, staring down at his little brother’s body.

“Damn you, Nidhogg!” he shouted, unheard by his dead family and neighbors. He looked up, searching the sky for his adversary, but the wyrm had already disappeared from view.

Drifting above the clouds that separated Ishgard from Coerthas, Nidhogg snarled, his brood and the wind at his back.

~~~

“Estinien!”

The boy started, snapping upright in his bed when he heard his name. The Hyuran man beside him frowned and took his hand from the Elezen child’s shoulder. Estinien’s eyes narrowed as he registered where he was and who he was with.

“Alberic?” he murmured, looking to the man who knelt at his bedside. He had a kindly face despite the scars that covered it, and when he smiled the right corner of his mouth curled upwards, giving him a lopsided but endearing grin.

His brown hair was tousled, forever in the unkempt state of one who rarely removed his helmet long enough to tidy it. He was sturdily built for a Midlander, his broad shoulders almost always kept straight in a soldier’s stance.

“You were crying out in your sleep,” the man said slowly, pushing himself to his feet. He favored his left side, which became apparent as he stood. The injuries he had sustained from his final bout with Nidhogg had left him weakened, though Estinien failed to see Alberic as anything but strong.

“I was not,” the boy said, averting his gaze as he crossed his arms over his chest. He had adopted an icy tone that matched the steel blue of his eyes, though the flush of red on his pointed ears gave away the truth.

He was a scrawny child, though his somewhat tanned skin told of the time he had spent outdoors shepherding the karakuls. As a Duskwight, he was vaguely aware of the prejudice that the Wildwood Elezen held for his kind, though the people of Ferndale had never given him any trouble for it.

“Well, whether you were or were not, it’s time for breakfast,” Alberic said with a simple shrug of his shoulders. He gave Estinien a small wave and exited the room through the main doorway.

Once his foster father had vanished, the boy laid back down and lifted a hand to his mouth, biting the second knuckle of his index finger to suppress the nauseating scream that wanted to tear its way out of his throat. It had been like this for weeks, ever since Ferndale had been crushed.

Estinien’s mind raced, chasing his memories as though if he thought about it hard enough he could change them. Frustrated, he eventually tore off his blanket and swung his legs over the side of the bed to get up. Surprisingly, Alberic had laid out fresh clothes for him at the foot of his bed.

Estinien dressed himself absentmindedly, changing out of his nightclothes and into a simple tunic and breeches. He gave himself a cursory glance in the mirror, briefly combing his fingers through his long white hair before pulling it back into a messy ponytail. If the old man wouldn’t even fix his own hair, he reasoned, there wasn’t much point to making himself particularly presentable. Giving himself one last glare in the mirror, he exited the room.

The dining area was dimly lit but warm, and Estinien’s stomach grumbled unceremoniously as he caught the scent of eggs and bacon. Alberic smiled at the sound and filled two plates, setting them down on the table and taking a seat. He motioned for Estinien to join him, making a welcoming gesture. The boy stared at him for a moment just long enough to make it awkward before pulling out a chair. It made an awful screeching noise as the legs dragged on the floor. Alberic’s eyebrows furrowed but he didn’t say anything, instead electing to just watch to see what Estinien would do next.

The Elezen hopped up onto the chair and looked down at the food on his plate. His mouth watered and he instinctively put a hand over his stomach as though he thought he could muffle its growling. He looked up at Alberic and startled again when he found the man gazing at him, deep in thought.

“You should eat up,” Alberic said, pouring himself a cup of tea from the pot on the table. “You need your strength.”

“Right…” Estinien mumbled, taking up his fork and pushing the eggs around on his plate. Alberic poured another cup of tea and placed it before the boy.

“I know you haven’t been eating much,” he prodded, clearing his throat. “I’d rather not let it be said that I let a child starve under my care.”

A long silence followed, with Alberic taking a draught of his tea and Estinien dodging the man’s glance. This scene had been played out nearly every morning since Alberic had taken the boy in, and if he had been worried for Estinien before, his anxiety had only been growing. He did not have much experience with children, and he feared that he wouldn’t be able to provide the boy with what he needed after all.

Finally, Estinien set his fork down with a loud clink against his plate. Alberic set his tea down and looked across the table at him, about to chastise him once more for refusing to eat, but Estinien spoke up before he could.

“You fought with Nidhogg, didn’t you?” the boy asked, his voice quiet but steady. It was one of the first times that he had directly addressed Alberic.

“Yes,” the man answered slowly, trying to take care not to force the boy back into his quietude. “As Ishgard’s Azure Dragoon it was my duty to take up my lance against the great wyrm.” Estinien shook his head.

“But you actually met him in combat, right? It wasn’t just an empty duty resting on words of an oath?”

“There is no such thing as an empty word from the Azure Dragoon,” Alberic answered simply, leaning forward in his seat. “My wounds may have taken their toll and separated me from the power of the Eye, but I was intent to fight the wyrm until the very last.” The man cleared his throat and gestured to Estinien’s plate as though he wished to change the subject.

“Do you think I could become a dragoon?” the boy asked, his steely blue eyes meeting Alberic’s brown ones. Alberic nearly flinched from the intensity with which Estinien had posed his question.

“It’s incredibly dangerous. I do not know if I could in good conscience advise you to take on the training, let alone the position.”

“Know this, then,” Estinien said forcefully, his voice steady. “I will fight back against the dragons whether you advise it or not. I have already sworn to myself that I will be the one to kill Nidhogg. Can you then, in good conscience, turn a blind eye to my ambitions, knowing I would hurl myself at the wyrm without a moment’s hesitation?”

Alberic clenched his jaw as he listened to Estinien’s words. It was the most the boy had said to him at once in the entire time since the destruction of Ferndale. The man closed his eyes for a few seconds before resigning himself to the boy’s truth.

“Alright,” Alberic said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I will personally train you in the ways of the dragoon if that’s what it takes to ensure your survival; however, you must follow my regimen to the letter, and that includes eating your damn breakfast every morning.”

And for the first time since their meeting, Estinien smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Alberic’s home was nestled in a string of houses behind the Congregation of Our Knights Most Heavenly, though once they began Estinien’s training they spent most of their time in and around the barracks.

Loath to allow the boy immediate access to a lance, Alberic insisted that he begin with a staff. Estinien had protested at first, but after his foster father’s insistence that a staff was the logical waypoint between a crook and a lance, he had given in. In all fairness, the man had also chosen to use a staff for himself as they trained.

It was not uncommon for the other Temple Knights and dragoons to gather around when Alberic entered the ring. They bit their tongues when they saw his opponent was the small Elezen boy, though they did pass one another knowing glances as the two prepared to spar.

“Try to come at me,” Alberic said, rolling his shoulders and gesturing toward himself with his thumb.

“But you’re injured,” Estinien answered, his voice quiet. He was not comfortable with all the watchful eyes of the knights on his back. Alberic let out a short, barking laugh.

“Don’t worry about me, boy.” He gestured toward himself once more. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Estinien’s eyes narrowed and he gripped his staff a little tighter, lifting it so the end wouldn’t drag along the floor of the arena. He swung out at Alberic, who sidestepped the attack and knocked his staff against Estinien’s, sending tremors up the boy’s arms.

“You have to put some feeling into it, Estinien,” the man told him with a shake of his head. “Even were such a strike to make contact, it would leave no impact on your opponent.”

The boy’s mouth twitched as he felt his ears and cheeks grow hot. He could not make out what they were saying, but the knights were muttering amongst themselves about him, he was sure of it. Gripping the staff so tightly that his knuckles ached, he took a running start at Alberic, this time attempting a jab at his chest.

The Hyur raised his staff to block Estinien’s poke, this time not bothering to step out of the way. The boy growled to himself and struck out at Alberic once more, his aim faltering as he barely knocked the end of the staff against the outer part of the man’s thigh.

“You must needs calm yourself,” Alberic said, swinging his staff up to plant it on the floor and lean against it. “The Eye is a beast that cannot be tamed. A dragoon who gives in to his anger is one who’ll be bent to Nidhogg’s will.”

“How am I supposed to not be angry?” Estinien shouted, startling some of the knights gathered around the arena. The boy ignored them and focused his attention on the man before him. “You may not know what it feels like to be powerless to stop tragedy from unfolding, but I do.”

Alberic flinched and immediately cursed himself for it. He lifted his staff from the floor and pointed it at Estinien, beckoning with his free hand for him to come at him once more. Estinien charge at him again, making a jab at the man’s chest, but Alberic easily knocked him aside, forcing the boy to the ground.

“I never said you couldn’t feel your anger, child. I ask only that you try to master it, rather than letting it control you.”

Estinien gritted his teeth and pushed himself to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw some of the knights shaking their heads, filling him with an entirely new fire.

“Then show me how I should be using this stick,” the boy said, waving the staff in front of himself. “I am not here to be beaten down again and again without instruction.”

Alberic nodded and approached the Elezen at a slow walk. Estinien gripped the staff tighter, still unsure if the man would still be on the attack. He stopped a few fulms away and steadied his staff before him, taking on an L-stance.

“Plant your feet as I have,” Alberic said, gesturing to him with his chin. Estinien copied the man’s stance, balancing his staff in front of himself. “Dragoons are known for their jumps and thus must be light on their feet, but at the same time they need a solid base from which to drive their strikes home.”

Estinien’s toes curled in his boots as he imagined himself being as light as a feather while still remaining grounded. A slight frown tugged at his lips but he didn’t protest against Alberic’s instructions.

“Now, show me what you think the motion of a proper thrust looks like,” the man told him, standing up straight to watch Estinien closely.

The boy nodded, his eyes narrowing as he concentrated. Stepping forward slightly with his back foot, he thrust outward, focusing his attack straight ahead. As he withdrew the staff, he took on the L-stance once more and, apprehensively, glanced over his shoulder at his instructor.

Alberic nodded once and cleared his throat before speaking.

“Alright, now watch me.” Estinien focused his gaze on his foster father, who gave him a half-smile before focusing on an invisible target ahead of him. In a fluid motion, he pulled back his staff and jabbed outward, swiftly withdrawing it as soon as it had extended past the point he intended to reach.

“Your first attack should all be done in one motion,” Alberic said, looking down at Estinien. The boy swallowed hard, his forehead crinkling as though he were deep in thought.

“Let me try again,” the Elezen eventually said.

“Of course.”

Estinien continued practicing his thrust for half a bell, with Alberic instructing him and occasionally making him pause so that he could arrange his arms and feet. Little by little, the staff grew heavy in his hands, frustrating him in that the training was becoming more difficult even as he began to see the difference between his and his mentor’s strikes.

Seeing that the boy’s strength was waning, Alberic clapped him on the back and drew the session to a close. While Estinien outwardly protested, he was secretly grateful for the break.

“We’ll make a dragoon out of you yet, Estinien,” Alberic praised him, leading him out of the ring to take a seat on the outside. The boy merely nodded, more to himself than to Alberic. One of the knights who had been watching their practice carried two cups of water over to them, which Alberic accepted gratefully. Estinien averted his eyes, nervous about looking the other knight in the face.

“It seems we’re starting them younger and younger each year,” the knight said, casually crossing her arms over her chest. Alberic chuckled lightly and shook his head, taking a long draught of his water.

“Estinien here is a bit of a special case,” the man replied, setting his cup down on the bench beside him. The boy blushed and stared down into his water as intently as he could.

“I suppose it only makes sense that the Azure Dragoon’s ward would be the exception to prove the rule.” Her eyes bored holes into the top of Estinien’s head and he finally looked up to meet her gaze. A rueful smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“I am the Azure Dragoon no longer,” Alberic said, dismissing the title with a wave of his hand. “We all know that, some better than most.”

The other knight nodded solemnly and leaned down toward Estinien until her lips were nearly touching his pointed ears.

“Do not expect that Bale’s special treatment of you will be carried on by the rest of us,” she whispered. Estinien’s face went pale, though he glared up at her as she pulled away, his hands gripping his cup of water so tightly he thought it might break. She made as if to turn away, but Estinien spoke out.

“No one deserves to have the world handed to them,” he said icily. “Do not take me for one who believes the gods owe it to him.”

She bared her teeth in a grin and waved a farewell, nodding to Alberic before striding off toward the other side of the arena. Alberic leaned toward the boy, his voice low so as not to be heard by the others gathered nearby.

“You must needs do your best to get along with the other knights, whatever they may throw at you,” he said, putting a hand on Estinien’s shoulder. “It won’t always be easy, but ultimately your comrades in arms are all you have left on the battlefield besides your weapon and your own wits.”

Estinien gritted his teeth and nodded once, forcing himself to loosen his grip on the cup that shook in his hands. Alberic squeezed his shoulder and the boy sighed, drooping where he sat as he felt just how tight the muscles in his arms and back had gotten. Reluctantly, he took a sip of water.

“They seem to already have it out for me,” he muttered, not looking up at Alberic as he spoke. The man frowned.

“I’m sorry to have brought this upon you, Estinien,” he said, his voice gentle and truly apologetic.

“I still want to learn, whatever they may say or do to me.” The boy’s voice was firm. Alberic stared at him for a moment, pondering his next words.

“I will teach you all that I can, but I expect you will come to learn from your peers as well.”

Estinien nodded, but internally he was praying that he would become strong enough so as to be peerless.


	3. Chapter 3

“Estinien! Come along now,” Alberic called over his shoulder as he hefted a bag of groceries up into his arms. The man had found that with a second mouth to feed, he had been making more and more trips to the Jeweled Crozier. At first Estinien had been hesitant to accompany him, but when the boy discovered the arms merchant it suddenly became difficult for Alberic to lure him home.

In this particular instance, the Elezen had become enamored with a lance that far exceeded his own height. Had he been an adult he may have been able to wield it, but at his young age and size it would have been difficult for him even to lift the weapon.

The lance was a simple thing, with a smooth walnut haft and a pointed steel tip. Estinien did not question the merchant who was selling the weapon, and the man behind the stall did not prompt him to. They had a silent agreement between the two of them; the boy would look at the weapons each time he came to the marketplace, inevitably drawing Alberic over to fetch him, and the former Azure Dragoon’s presence would invariably make other customers flock to the stall.

Alberic strolled over to place his free hand on his foster son’s shoulder. Estinien glanced at him out of the corner of his eye to confirm that it was, in fact, Alberic, before returning his gaze to the lance.

“You know you couldn’t wield that one, son,” Alberic told him with a squeeze of his shoulder. Estinien shook his head.

“Maybe not now…”

“But someday. I know.” The Hyur shook his head and gently tugged at Estinien’s elbow, pulling him away from the stall. The boy sighed and went along with him, though there was nothing to stop him from looking over his shoulder as they drew farther and farther away.

“When can I start practicing with real weapons?” Estinien asked, finally looking up at his foster father. This time it was Alberic’s turn to sigh.

The man guided them over to a bench and sat down, setting the groceries in his lap and patting the space next to him, motioning for Estinien to follow suit. The boy plopped himself down beside him, his fingers gripping the edge of the bench as he forced himself not to swing his feet.

“Estinien, why are you so eager to hurl yourself into the face of danger?” Alberic asked, noting the way that the boy’s knuckles began to go white from how tightly his fingers were wrapped around the edge of the bench.

“You know why,” the boy muttered, fixing his gaze on the ground.

“I worry for you, you know.” Alberic’s mouth curled into a frown as he tried and failed to make eye contact with the Elezen. “You mustn’t exhaust yourself fretting over the dead. They have already safely made their way into Halone’s halls.”

“That is little comfort when I think of how they died.” Estinien closed his eyes and loosened his grip on the bench so that he could wipe his nose on his sleeve.

A long silence passed between the two of them, which was only disturbed by the occasional whistling of the wind. Alberic’s shoulder slumped in defeat, which only made Estinien feel more miserable.

“Your village was not the only one ever destroyed by the Dravanians,” Alberic said slowly, shaking his head as though he wished to loose the memories from his mind. “They have killed many people and torn apart many families.” He glanced over at Estinien, who for once was staring straight back at him. “It is not enough to be upset and to take out that rage upon them.”

“But what other motivation could I possibly need?” Estinien’s voice was earnest, and there was an intensity in his eyes that Alberic only saw when he woke the boy from his nightmares.

“The oath that the Azure Dragoon swears is one to serve and protect all citizens of Ishgard.” He shook his head as he saw that Estinien had opened his mouth to interrupt. “We are all angry at the dragons -- at Nidhogg -- but you must not lose sight of what it means to guard the people from danger.” He sighed deeply. “The life of an Azure Dragoon is not their own. It is that responsibility which keeps their rage in check.”

Estinien pursed his lips in thought as he mulled over Alberic’s words. He had thought that he knew what it meant to devote his life to the lance; now he began to doubt himself. He clasped his hands together in his lap and looked up at Alberic once more.

“Then the Azure Dragoon is a model citizen,” he said quietly. Alberic looked at him inquisitively. “Like you.”

Alberic’s face twisted through several emotions as he processed Estinien’s words, though eventually he let out a long chortle.

“What’s so funny?” the boy demanded, his long ears turning red.

“I do not know what led you to believe that I was a ‘model citizen,’ as you put it, but…” His mouth still smiled but his eyes were serious. “My only hope is that you will live to be better and stronger than I ever could be.”

“But you’re incredible!” Estinien blurted out, then quickly glanced around to ensure that no one else had heard him. Alberic ruffled the boy’s hair affectionately.

“Let’s get moving,” the Hyur said, holding the groceries in one arm and pushing himself up from the bench with the other.

“But I mean it,” Estinien protested, his face falling as he rose to follow his foster father. “You battled one-on-one with Nidhogg and survived to tell the tale. The only way I could best that record would be to defeat him and still escape with my life…”

“Estinien,” Alberic said, glancing over his shoulder to ensure that the boy was following. “The life of an Azure Dragoon is not their own,” he repeated. “As a citizen of Ishgard, I must pray you will live, no matter the sacrifice.”

“Don’t worry about me, then,” Estinien answered, his small hands clenching into fists. “I will live to see the morrow, and bring you back the wyrm’s second eye besides.”

“That’s more like it, my boy.”

Alberic guided Estinien back home, though the boy had already become familiar with the layout of the city. Still, Alberic was nervous to let him run free. Having already passed through the western end of the Jeweled Crozier, they began to cross Foundation. Alberic had already invited Estinien several times to go with him to the Holy Stables, hoping to find an interest of the boy’s other than his vengeance. Estinien had refused each time, and though he didn’t give a reason, Alberic suspected that the thought of animal husbandry brought many bitter memories to the boy’s mind.

They paused at the aetheryte plaza, not because they intended to, but rather because they were stuck behind a crowd. Alberic spotted a few Temple Knights at the center of the pack and leaned down to hand the groceries to Estinien.

“Stay right here,” Alberic told him. Sensing the man’s grave tone, Estinien merely nodded and planted his feet, wanting to, for once, do as his foster father had asked.

Alberic waded through the crowd, somehow nimbly slipping between people until he had arrived at the middle.

“Ser Alberic!” Estinien heard one of the knights shout, though his voice was muffled by the commotion of all the people around them. The boy tried to grasp the words that followed, but try as he did, the sounds of the crowd were just too noisy.

Swallowing hard, Estinien held the groceries to his chest. They were heavier than he had expected, but he insisted to himself that if he couldn’t even hold some groceries for a few minutes, he would never be able to wield a lance like the one in the marketplace. So intent was he upon his own thoughts that he failed to notice the approach of another boy and his family.

“Do you know what’s going on?” the other child asked in what amounted to a loud stage whisper. Estinien nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice that was suddenly so close to him, and when he turned to see where it had come from there was a scowl on his face.

The other boy was also an Elezen, though his cheeks were rosier and his clothes were finer despite him appearing to be of similar age. His black hair framed a gentle face that was lit up by the ice blue of his eyes, and he was slightly taller than Estinien despite his softer features.

“Wh-what?” Estinien asked, using his gruffest voice in the hopes it would get the other boy to back off.

“Do you know what’s going on?” the black-haired boy repeated, motioning to the crowd before them. Estinien shook his head slowly, reluctant to show his ignorance of the situation. The other boy’s face fell and he took a step back, finally noticing the uncomfortable aura that was radiating out from Estinien.

“Now, now, Aymeric,” came the voice of an elderly woman from behind them. Estinien couldn’t help but glance back, and when he did he saw that she was also accompanied by an older man. “Let the boy be,” she said, extending her hand toward the Wildwood child. He took her hand and she gently pulled him away from Estinien.

“Bye!” the other boy said cheerfully, giving him a small wave with his free hand. Estinien felt his face grow hot as he gave him a half-hearted wave back.

Alberic returned with a tired look on his face and wordlessly took the groceries back.

“What happened?” Estinien asked somewhat fearfully. He was not accustomed to seeing his foster father appear so exhausted.

“I’ll tell you on our way back,” he said, putting one hand on Estinien’s back to guide him away from the crowd. The Elezen looked back over his shoulder, but when he did he didn’t see the knights anymore, nor the other boy.

Alberic’s movements were heavy, and if Estinien paid more attention to where the man was stepping than where he was himself, he could almost hear the tiredness in the thud of the man’s footsteps. Once they were closer to the Congregation, Alberic finally let go of him.

“There was another Dravanian attack in Coerthas,” the man said, his shoulders slumping. Estinien’s fingernails dug into the palms of his hands as they formed into fists. “One of the survivors -- an adventurer, it seems -- teleported into the city covered in blood.” He shook his head.

“Will they be alright?” Estinien asked, his brow furrowing in concern. “What about everyone else?”

“The astrologians at the Observatorium confirmed the attack, but as no one else survived, the adventurer has fallen under suspicion.”

“You don’t mean the Inquisitors took them, do you?”

Alberic nodded and let out a sigh.

“They’ll bring them to the infirmary, right?” 

“I do not know, Estinien.” The man’s voice was steady, though his mouth wavered as he spoke. “Only time will tell, and the results of their trial may not be made public afterwards.”

Estinien was torn. He knew firsthand what it was like to witness an attack of the horde and come out of it as the lone survivor, but if there was even a remote chance that the adventurer had been a Heretic and had summoned the dragons upon the others, the boy could not stand the thought of them getting away with it.

Seeing the conflict etched upon the boy’s face, Alberic smiled weakly and wrapped his free arm around his foster son’s shoulder.

“We must trust that Halone will guide the Inquisitors to the truth,” he said, pulling the boy closer. Estinien nodded, resting his head against Alberic’s side.


	4. Chapter 4

A terrible darkness swept around him, seeming to close in from all sides. Estinien turned around and around, looking for a way out, but none became apparent. His feet were as lead, and every step he tried to take felt as though it may break his legs.

“Alberic?” he cried out, the name of his foster father coming to his lips only because he knew that there was no one else who would dare help him now. The wind picked up, swirling about the boy and tugging at his clothes. The sound of the horrible gusts drowned out any reply that may have come from the man, and, somewhere in his heart, Estinien gave up.

The boy dropped to his knees, feeling like his heart could plummet from out his chest to the ground. He leaned forward, his palms pressed against what felt like cold stone, and tears spilled down his cheeks to land on the backs of his hands.

“Estinien…” A great voice rumbled around him like thunder, though the sound of his name itself seemed to come from within the boy’s chest, resonating with his heart. Slowly, he raised his head to look around, terrified but eerily fixated upon finding the source of the voice. 

“Who’s there?” he asked, feeling himself tremble as he spoke. He winced at how weak he had sounded, though in the darkness there seemed to be no one who could hear him; at least, no one save the owner of the voice.

A chuckle sounded throughout the unrecognizable space, the darkness billowing closer and farther as though in time with the thing’s breathing. Estinien’s fingernails dug into the stone beneath him, and though they began to bleed, he paid them no mind.

“What do you want?” the boy shouted. Somehow the darkness grew blacker, so deep and inky that Estinien could barely see his own hands in front of him. The wind quieted, and in its absence he heard a long, loud rustling noise, like scales being dragged along stone. He swallowed hard, his bloodied nails curling into his palms.

The rustling continued for what felt as eons to the boy, until, within the darkness, something shifted. Mere fulms from Estinien’s face, one large eyelid opened, revealing an enormous, horrible, yellow eye.

And then it looked at him.

~~~

Estinien woke with his right hand clutched over his heart, which was beating harder and faster than he had ever felt it go before. His breath caught in his throat, preventing him from screaming and waking Alberic, who slept lightly in the next room over.

The boy swung his head from side to side, frantically glancing around the room to ensure that he was somewhere safe. The blankets that Alberic had laid over him at bedtime were twisted and bunched up around Estinien’s legs, presumably because he had been thrashing in his sleep. His heart quickened for a moment as he struggled to free himself, but once he was able to swing his legs off the side of the bed and let his feet touch the wooden floor, he began to calm.

He leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes as though it could rid him of the horrible vision he had seen. 

“Nightmares of an addled mind,” he muttered to himself, digging his fingernails into his scalp to confirm that he was now awake -- that he was now safe. “Nothing more. Nothing more…”

He pushed himself to his feet and began wandering around the small room that was now his. The last time he had had a room to himself had been before his little brother was born. The thought of it made his stomach clench, and he put a hand over it to settle it.

The room was still somewhat discordant, having once been a simple side room for Alberic to store his things. When Estinien had moved in, the Hyur had cleaned out most of the space to make room for the boy, but he had few belongings of his own. Thus was the room decorated mostly with Alberic’s old things, including a bookshelf with scarcely enough books to warrant the shelf’s presence at all, and several chests and racks which stored weapons and armor.

Estinien stepped up to one of these racks and reached out to touch the metal of a piece of armor. It was Alberic’s dragoon helmet, the horns on either side curling backwards in a uniform and elegant manner. Now that Alberic had been forced into retirement, he had hung up the armet for good. Estinien carefully picked up the helmet, making sure not to let it clang against any of the other pieces on the rack.

With the armet in hand, the boy sat down cross-legged on his bed. The moonlight which filtered through the window was a somewhat gloomy light source, but it matched Estinien’s mood and was bright enough for him to make out the grooves in the armor. He ran his fingers along these, setting the helmet in his lap.

The metal was cool to the touch, and a shiver ran up the boy’s arm, reminding him that the weather had been growing colder by the day. Still, he left his blankets rumpled at the foot of the bed, reluctant to lull himself back to sleep with their warmth.

“One day,” he murmured, staring down at the helmet. “Will I really be worthy of this mantle?” His brow furrowed and he sighed, lifting his eyes to look out the window. A small bit of snow had begun to fall, and the glass offered a view out into the streets of Ishgard. “To protect the city, to protect all of Coerthas…” His fingers clenched around the base of the armet and he nodded to himself. “I will do it,” he whispered. “I will do it for you.”

~~~

The next morning, Alberic found Estinien curled up on the bed with his arms wrapped around the dragoon helmet. The man was not sure if he should smile or frown, and his usually jovial face contorted in that confusion into an expression that was more like a grimace than anything else.

“Up and at ‘em, Estinien,” he urged, and the boy sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes with one hand while still gripping the armet with the other. Once his vision had cleared, Estinien glanced up at Alberic, then down to the helmet, and finally back up at Alberic.

“I, uh…” The boy wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Alberic’s expression eased back into his usual smile and he stepped forward to take the piece of armor from Estinien.

“It’s alright to dream of your future, son,” Alberic said, looking down at the helmet as though he were seeing his own past reflected in the shiny metal. The man shook his head and crossed the room to the armor rack, setting the armet back where Estinien had taken it from. He turned to the boy and motioned for him to get out of the bed -- or at least the mess that was left of it.

Estinien nodded in understanding and clambered to his feet, prompting Alberic to leave the room so the boy could prepare for the day. He did so quickly this time, having grown used to a routine of waking when Alberic called for him, having breakfast, and preparing to go out for the day, wherever the man deemed necessary.

When Estinien had dressed and headed out to the kitchen, his foster father was waiting for him as expected. The man was already drinking his tea and two plates of breakfast sandwiches were set out on the table.

“There’s somewhere different I’d like to take you today,” Alberic said as Estinien sat down. The boy cocked his head to the side, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite as his ears perked up to listen to the Hyur. “There is a monument to Haldrath in Western Coerthas. Do you know of it?”

“Aye,” Estinien answered after swallowing a bit of his sandwich. “Though I’ve never been particularly close to it.”

“I think that you would like it,” Alberic told him, picking up his own sandwich and taking a large bite, which he chewed thoughtfully before swallowing it with a gulp of tea.

“Ishgard’s first dragoon…” Estinien murmured to himself. He caught Alberic smiling at his response and felt his ears begin to turn red. “Why the sudden field trip?” he asked, trying to mask his embarrassment.

Alberic took a thoughtful sip of his tea before speaking, leaning back in his chair after he had set down the cup. He casually clasped his fingers together and rested his hands on the table, twiddling his thumbs for a moment as he figured out exactly he wanted to say.

“This was the first morning since you came to Ishgard that you didn’t wake up screaming,” he finally said, making eye contact with the boy. “Truth be told, I was a little worried that you had up and left me, but no, instead I found you sleeping soundly with my old helmet in your arms.” Estinien made a noise as if to protest but Alberic held up his hands to silence him. “The dragoon’s armor is iconic, a symbol of the protectors of our people -- the armet most of all. There is no shame in finding comfort in the thought of the dragoon, be it one you may know or one you wish to become.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of them, with Estinien’s face glowing red the entire time.

“Did Haldrath wear the same armor as you?” the boy asked quietly, looking up at his foster father. Alberic nodded. “Then one day…”

“Yes, one day you will wear the garb of Ishgard’s greatest hero. My prayers are already with Halone that you may become just as great as Haldrath.”

“I will end this war, Alberic,” Estinien said, his voice soft but steady. “For you, for my family, for all of us.”

“I don’t doubt you will, son.”

~~~

They ventured to the Coerthas Western Highlands that day, Alberic with a pack full of snacks and other odds and ends on his back. They rented chocobos, Estinien biting his tongue on the matter once he realized that it was more for his foster father’s sake than his own.

“We could fly to the monument,” Alberic explained as they led their chocobos through Falcon’s Nest, “but I’d rather you see everything for yourself up close.” Estinien nodded, eyeing his chocobo. The bird was quite a bit taller than him despite Alberic having picked one of the smaller ones for the boy.

Seeing that Estinien was having trouble figuring out how to mount his chocobo, Alberic wordlessly knelt to the ground beside them both and put his hands together, forming a sort of step for Estinien to use. The tips of the boy’s ears turned red, but he accepted the man’s help and was soon upon his bird.

They traveled northeast from Falcon’s Nest, and the path they took was so well-tread so as to be clear despite the falling snow. Some green still peeked out from beneath the thin layer upon the ground, and Estinien was as wide-eyed as he had ever been.

Their trip took several bells, though the monument was visible from much farther away than Estinien had expected. He imagined that, were the sky clear, one might even be able to see it all the way from Falcon’s Nest.

“It’s like… a lighthouse?” Estinien said, dismounting from his chocobo with Alberic’s help. The man nodded.

“The lights within serve as a beacon in the darkness, just as Haldrath’s own light serves as a beacon of hope to all of Ishgard.” Alberic patted his own chest, putting a hand over his heart. “This monument is a reminder of all that an Azure Dragoon can be.”

Estinien took a step toward the base of the monument, glancing at Alberic to gain permission to touch it. The man chuckled and motioned for him to go ahead, so Estinien placed his hand against the carved stone, craning his neck back so that he could see the top of the monument. 

Withdrawing his hand, Estinien held his curled fingers before his face and closed his eyes. Alberic looked on in silence as the boy prayed, eventually lowering his head in his own quiet prayer.

“Halone preserve,” Estinien finally murmured, opening his eyes. Alberic stepped closer to stand beside him and clapped a hand onto the boy’s shoulder.

“Halone preserve.”


	5. Chapter 5

Estinien took a lance from the rack outside the arena, hefting it before stepping inside. A good foot taller than he had been when he was twelve, the young man was now large and fit enough to take on any number of the other knights in a sparring match.

Alberic sat on the edge of the arena, though he tried to keep quiet so as not to embarrass Estinien. The Elezen, despite his protestations to his foster father’s constant presence, tossed a small grin over his shoulder to the Hyur. Alberic smiled back. He knew that any moment that the young man’s normally stony expression could be broken was a precious one.

Estinien strode to the center of the arena, rolling his shoulders and taking up the fighting stance that Alberic had shown him long ago. He held his lance at the ready as he waited for his next opponent.

A young woman with blonde hair lightly hopped over the barrier between the arena and the stands, spear in hand. Estinien nodded to her, more readily acknowledging her presence than he did most others.

“Heustienne,” he said, slightly bowing his head to her.

“Estinien.” She flourished with a curtsy toward him before taking on her own fighting stance. They had met one another in the arena many a time before, and, being of similar age, had developed a somewhat rivalrous camaraderie with one another. The arena and the area surrounding it grew quiet as all eyes fell upon the two young Elezen.

The silence was broken by the loud clang of two pieces of metal colliding. Both Estinien and Heustienne had lunged at the other, and the ends of their lances clashed in the middle. Estinien gritted his teeth, attempting to push Heustienne away, but the young woman stood her ground. Realizing that it wouldn’t work, Estinien leapt back several yalms before jumping at her once again.

Heustienne hesitated, unsure if she should block or use Estinien’s forward motion to strike her own blow. Caught in a tough spot due to her own hesitation, she fell back on blocking, though this time her feet slid on the arena floor as she hadn’t had enough time to regain her footing. Realizing this, Estinien withdrew his lance for a moment, backstepping a half-step in order to swing his lance behind her knees and knock his opponent to the floor.

The young woman’s back slammed hard against the floor, knocking the wind from her lungs. She winced, looking up at Estinien to see that he stood over her with his lance pointed down at her throat.

“I get the idea, Estinien,” she said, coughing out the words. The young man withdrew his lance and offered her a hand to help her rise to her feet. Once she was standing, she dusted herself off and resumed her fighting stance. “Again?”

“Again,” Estinien agreed.

As the two of them continued to spar, someone approached Alberic from behind and rested a hand on his shoulder. The Hyur turned his head to see who the hand belonged to, a friendly smile coming to his face when he recognized the older Elezen.

“Ah, Montorgains,” Alberic said, patting the seat beside him. “Sit with me, my friend.”

The Elezen obliged him, slowly sitting down next to the Hyur so as to not let his bones creak as much as they may have.

“To be young again,” Montorgains said softly, gesturing to the arena where his daughter sparred with Alberic’s son. He shook his head, though he smiled as he did it. “Worry as I may, nothing will deter her from pursuing her knighthood.” He turned to look at Alberic. “How about yours?”

“For as long as I’ve known him, I knew Estinien would choose the path of the dragoon,” Alberic said with a shrug of his shoulders. “Were I to attempt to stop him, he would surely find some other way around me. I would rather he go into that world prepared for the worst than sheltered and unaware of its hardships.”

“Aye, a fair point,” Montorgains agreed. “Admittedly, I have tried to deter Heustienne from the path, but she is as intent as always to follow in my footsteps.”

The clang of metal on metal as the two Elezen sparred rang throughout the arena and Alberic smiled softly.

“To be honest, I am just glad that Estinien has a friend his own age now. He was not particularly interested in playing with the other children when he was younger. I felt as though I had stolen his childhood from him, or something to that effect.”

“Ah, I don’t think you need to worry about that, old friend,” Montorgains said. “To see the way he looks at you, even with that grim expression on his face -- anyone could tell that he’s grateful.”

“You think so?”

“You needn’t worry so much about what you think you’re doing wrong with him. Just focus on what you know you’re doing right and you’ll both be just fine.” Montorgains nodded sagely before pushing himself to his feet. “Heustienne!” he called to his daughter, walking around the arena to get closer to where the two younger Elezen were still at arms.

“Father!” Heustienne cried out in frustration as she lost her concentration, getting knocked back a few fulms by Estinien. The young man put up his lance at the approach of his friend’s father, raising his hands as though to gesture to Heustienne that enough was enough. “Just one more match?” she begged, but Montorgains shook his head.

“Your mother is waiting,” the older man said, bowing his head a little toward Estinien. “You’d best take your old man into consideration as well, Estinien.”

Estinien smiled wryly and looked over his shoulder at Alberic, who waved to him from the bench.

“Let’s put up our gear,” Estinien suggested, to which Heustienne nodded. Montorgains let them wander past him out of the arena to hang up their weapons and armor on the racks. “You’re improving,” the young man murmured to her when he thought they were out of earshot.

“Oh, come on. You’re just saying that,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. They placed their lances where they had gotten them from and Estinien began helping her out of her armor.

“What reason would I have to make up something like that?” he said plainly. “Only a properly trained opponent would have something to teach me.”

“What, and if I had nothing to offer you wouldn’t spar with me anymore?” she scoffed, slipping off her greaves. When Estinien didn’t answer, she whirled around to face him. “You aren’t joking.” Estinien shrugged and turned around so she could help him out of his scale mail. “I don’t know whether to take the compliment or feel offended,” she muttered.

“Why not a bit of both?” he teased, an uncharacteristic smile tugging at his lips. She frowned at him and stuck out her tongue.

“Come along, Heustienne!” Montorgains called. The two of them finished stowing their gear and headed to their respective fathers, with Heustienne giving Estinien a friendly wave goodbye. The young man gave her a short wave back.

“Would you like to head to the Crozier, Estinien?” Alberic asked, rising from his seat to greet his foster son. The young man had grown so much that now Alberic had to look up at him in order to meet his gaze.

“I stink as though I’ve been riding on chocobo-back for a week,” Estinien said, sniffing loudly. Alberic shrugged at him.

“Home it is, then.”

It didn’t take long for them to get back to Alberic’s place, though Estinien guiltily reasoned that if he didn’t have to slow his pace for his foster father he would be able to make better time. Still, he did not mind the breeze that sifted through his long white hair as they walked, cooling the sweat on his brow and the back of his neck.

When they arrived, Estinien went straight for the restroom and stripped off the clothes he had been wearing under his armor. They were soaked with sweat, though he had grown so accustomed to the smell that it didn’t bother him so much anymore. He filled the bath with water and climbed in when it was full, bunching his knees up to his chest so that he would fit.

The water was lukewarm, and he tried stretching his legs out just a little bit so that he could splash water onto his face. He was tired, but he felt as though his efforts were worth it. Finally, his hard work was paying off, and soon he would be able to be sent out on missions for the Holy See. He would prove himself in battle and earn his armet after all.

Bunching his legs up again, he scooched forward far enough that when he leaned backwards he could submerge his hair. He had outgrown Alberic constantly fussing over him trying to get him to brush it, though it had imbued him with at least the slightest sense that he had to care for himself and his hygeine. 

After he had scrubbed and rinsed himself off, he climbed out of the tub and grabbed a towel to begin drying his hair. When he was satisfied with it, he wrapped the towel around his head and grabbed another to dry and wrap around his body.

He exited the restroom and crossed the house to his bedroom to grab a set of clean clothes. Once he had changed and his hair had, for the most part, finished drying, he went back out into the kitchen, where Alberic was waiting for him. 

“Rather industrious of you, cleaning up after yourself,” the older man noted, though there was a smile in his voice. 

“Be careful if you’re poking fun, or I might not do it again in the future.”

“So you say,” Alberic said, shaking his head. “It was merely an observation, though. I’m just glad that you seem to be taking better care of yourself.”

“I’m grown now, Alberic. You needn’t fuss so.” The young man sat down in the chair across from his foster father, leaning forward with his elbows on the table.

“Me, fuss over you?” Alberic joked. Estinien rolled his eyes in response. “But in all seriousness, you know that you can talk to me, right? About anything.”

“Of course I know that,” Estinien said with a sigh. “What is it you’re getting at, old timer?”

“Well…” Alberic paused, leaning forward to peer across the table at Estinien. “I just noticed that you and Heustienne seem to be getting along rather well.”

“She’s strong. Persistent.” Estinien shrugged. “Our aims are similar, if not the same. I’m sure one day that she’ll be a noteworthy dragoon.”

“Is that all?” Alberic probed, raising one eyebrow. Estinien looked back at him with a confused expression.

“What else would there be?”

“A young man and a young woman of similar age hitting it off better than anyone has ever seen them get along with anyone else…” He rubbed his forehead with one hand as though he could somehow dismiss the feeling that the topic had grown somewhat awkward for him. Estinien’s look of confusion slowly changed to understanding, though, and when it shifted he smiled widely and began to laugh.

“You think that… Me and Heustienne?” The Elezen leaned back in his chair and snorted one last laugh. “No. She is a friend. Why should she be anything other than that?”

Alberic stared back at him, feeling as though he were more embarrassed than Estinien would have been if his answer had been otherwise.

“She’s a nice girl,” the Hyur said slowly, trying to remember how he could have thought such a thing in the first place, considering how ridiculously Estinien had reacted. “I doubt I’m the only one who thinks there could be something between you,” he said, his voice somewhat defensive.

“Dismiss the thought from your mind, then,” Estinien told him, waving a hand in front of himself. A flicker of doubt flashed across his face, though, and his expression darkened.

“I didn’t mean to offend you somehow,” Alberic assured him.

“No offense taken,” Estinien said, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He truly was not offended; rather, a seed of worry had been planted in his heart as he began to wonder if Montorgains had had the same discussion with Heustienne, and what her reaction would have been.


	6. Chapter 6

“Estinien,” the voice called, twisting into his ears and down his throat to grip at his insides.  After years of the nightmares, he had learned to stand his ground, so this time he took a step toward the source of the voice.  The sound of scales scraping along stone came closer than before, and when the dragon opened its eye to look at him, Estinien bit his tongue so as not to let out a scream.

“Good,” the voice said, though the young man felt as though he had only interpreted the meaning, rather than legitimately hearing a word he could understand.  “Come closer.”

“Why should I do as you tell me?” he asked, feigning defiance.  In reality, he was struggling to stay upon his feet. All his body wanted to do was crumple beneath him.

“We are meant to stand as one,” the voice said, and the enormous eyelid before him snapped shut for a moment before opening again so that the yellow eye could stare straight at Estinien’s face.  “Our anger is the same. Our thirst for vengeance, for justice.”

“What do you know of justice?” Estinien snarled, growing angry despite the fear that rattled his bones.  “You are a beast, nothing more.”

The voice chuckled, the sound rumbling through the ground and shaking Estinien to his core.  The Elezen instinctively reached out a hand to steady himself, his fingers pressing against the skin of the monster’s face.

The smoke around them was instantly swept away by the wind.  Estinien jumped back, trying to put some distance between himself and the terrible wyrm that had appeared before him.

“You are the beast in this game,” the dragon told him, rearing up and facing the Elezen head on.  Estinien saw now that its other eye socket was empty. He swallowed hard and took a step back, this time losing his balance and falling to the ground.

“Nidhogg,” Estinien gasped, the look of horror on his face quickly turning to one of anger.  The great wyrm’s maw opened wide as a ball of crimson flame gathered in its throat. “No!”

~~~

His own shout waking him, Estinien jolted up in bed, scrambling back against the wall as though the monster were still before him.  He looked up to where the dragon should have been and sighed, relief beginning to wash over his fear.

He hugged his legs to his chest, resting his chin on his knees as his mind raced through all that he remembered of the dream.  He knew that he had seen the wyrm before, though he was unsure if it had been in an actual memory or only in his nightmares.

“Damn it all,” he cursed under his breath, knocking a fist against his forehead.  “The Azure Dragoon may know fear, but it must drive them to put an end to that fear.  I must kill Nidhogg. I must kill Nidhogg.”

Comforting himself with the chant, he laid back down with his legs curled in tight against his body and pulled a blanket over his body, covering his head.

~~~

He could not manage to fall back asleep that night, so when he got up to face the day his eyes were dark with exhaustion.  Alberic did not question him heavily on the matter, having seen him in such a state many times before; neither did he question him when the young man told him was going out for a breath of fresh air.  

For once, he did not head to the Congregation nor to the arena.  Instead, he wound his way from Foundation to the Pillars and finally stopped before Saint Reymanaud’s Cathedral.  He stood outside, looking up at the stained glass windows. The wind picked up and he wrapped his coat more tightly around himself.

Alberic had offered to take him to services at the Cathedral throughout his childhood, and while he had occasionally assented, something about the place made him feel uncomfortable.  The Cathedral was meant to be a place where all Ishgardians could come together and pray to Halone, but its location in the Pillars and its grandiose construction always seemed to run counter to that purpose.  Part of him, he knew, would always feel like the frightened farm boy that he was when Alberic had found him. 

Right now, he was unsure if that feeling was enough to either drive him into or away from the Cathedral, so he stood, unmoving, outside the building.  The few people who shuffled into and out of the Cathedral ignored him for the most part, skirting around the strange Elezen who had planted himself outside the door.  

“Excuse me, son?” eventually came a voice from beside him.  Estinien was somewhat startled, but he didn’t jump out of his skin; instead, he turned to face the person who seemed to be addressing him.

“Hm?” he grunted quietly, eyeing the member of the clergy who had approached him.  He was an older man who wore white and red robes, standard for those who served Halone.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” the man asked, his wrinkled cheeks pulling up into a gentle smile.  

“I just was thinking about Halone,” Estinien murmured, looking up at the stained glass again.  

“You’re welcome inside the Cathedral,” the man said, bowing his head a little.  “Halone accepts all of her children with open arms, provided they greet her with the same.”  He took a few steps toward the building, motioning for Estinien to follow him. “Come in out of the cold for a time, at the very least.”

Having received an invitation, Estinien didn’t feel he had any reason to refuse, so he followed the man inside.  It was, admittedly, warmer in the Cathedral, and while the young man’s shoulders remained tensed, he found that he had stopped grinding his teeth.

“Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with, child,” the clergyman said, tilting his head to look down at Estinien.

“I…”  He swallowed hard, glancing around the entrance to the Cathedral.  It had been some time since he had actually entered the building, but if he remembered correctly, there were pews in the innermost room.  “I think I will take some time to share my thoughts with Halone,” he said, biting his lip as he said the goddess’s name.

The clergyman nodded sagely, moving off to attend to whatever business he had in the place of worship.  Internally, Estinien felt as though he could scream, and the urge to do so clawed its way through his gut.  He couldn’t tell anyone of the dreams he had, nor of the turn for the worse they had taken. To commune with the dragons was sacrilege, heretical -- even the Azure Dragoon would need to choose their words carefully when it came to discussing matters involving the Dravanians.

Estinien forced his feet to carry him to the innermost room, shoving his hands in his pockets.  There, they balled into fists, his nails biting into his palms so harshly that he would later find the skin torn open.

He took a seat at a pew in the back row, leaning forward so that he looked as though he were in deep contemplation rather than great pain.  There were a few other people scattered throughout the room, but none of them paid him any mind, their thoughts on Halone and her blessings rather than the silently brooding young man who sat behind them all.

_ Halone… _ he mused, closing his steel blue eyes.   _ How long has it been since I reached out to you, truly?  Certainly not as long as it’s been since you extended your hand to me…   _ He gritted his teeth once more.

_ Am I cursed?  Plagued by thoughts of the great wyrm as I am, it can only be a matter of time before I slip before your faithful.  I thought I had grown accustomed to his nightly visits to my dreams, but my head aches come morning, every morning, and I feel as though I am never rested, however many hours I toss and turn. _

_ Why?  Why would you let him do this to me?  Have I not suffered enough?  _ His eyebrows narrowed and he felt his lips curl into what would have been a snarl had he not been carefully controlling his breathing.   _ A selfish question, that one. _

His shoulders slumped and he suppressed a sigh of defeat.  Opening his eyes to look upon the Fury’s statue at the end of the room, he found that his gaze settled upon the hand that gripped her lance.  The sculpted stone had dulled with age, and while the others in the Cathedral somehow found beauty and fulfillment in the statue’s presence, Estinien felt the emptiness that followed in the goddess’s absence.

Letting out a soft sigh, he rose from his seat and exited the room as quietly as he could.  On his way out of the Cathedral, he was stopped by the same clergyman who had invited him in.

“How go your prayers?” he asked kindly.

“I’m sure Halone will answer them,” Estinien lied, bowing his head in obeisance.  The truth would hang heavier in his heart than any lie he could tell to soothe himself.

He left the Cathedral as reluctantly as he had entered it, and when he pulled his hands from his pockets, he found faint trickles of blood running from his palms.


End file.
